


The Good Neighbour

by GenerallyHuxurious (GallifreyanOmnishambles)



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Crush, Awkwardness, Breaking and Entering, Comfort, Fluff, Hospitalization, Illnesses, Influenza, Injured Hux, M/M, Neighbors, Pets, Pining, Poor Dopheld Mitaka, Slow Burn, So Much Awkwardness, Strangers to Lovers, Unconsciousness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-07-05 21:07:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15871767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GallifreyanOmnishambles/pseuds/GenerallyHuxurious
Summary: Just because Dopheld knows every detail of his neighbours daily routine that doesn't make him obsessed or anything. Even if the guy is gorgeous. In fact, his attention to detail happens to prove very useful when he wakes one morning to a total absence of noise from the flat downstairs...





	The Good Neighbour

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aro_Ace_Austrian_in_Space](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aro_Ace_Austrian_in_Space/gifts).



> Prompt fill for Neighbour AU & Sick/Injury AU Combination that got out of hand so y'all are getting a multichapter.

Dopheld Mitaka woke alone in his bed, as he always did, and stared at the ceiling for a while.

Something was wrong, he was sure of that much, but it wasn’t immediately clear what exactly that something might be. 

His room was how he’d left it the previous evening. He seemed to be physically well. Everything was quiet.

Possibly too quiet. 

He frowned as he concentrated but all that did was deepen the lines between his brows. There were no noises coming from downstairs. 

Well, maybe he’d woken extra early today, before his usual signal to get up, and  _ that _ was what seemed strange. He reached awkwardly toward the nightstand to check his phone then nearly dropped it down the side of the mattress when he saw the time. 

It was 8:32am. 

He’d overslept by almost three hours. 

Of course, it was a Sunday so he didn’t  _ have _ to get up, but he always woke up at the same time. Always. 

He hadn’t needed to set a morning alarm in months. He still did on weekdays, because he was a sensible sort, but he didn’t  _ need _ one. Not since The Redhead had moved into the basement flat directly below him. 

The Redhead deserved the capital letters. He was, in a word, gorgeous. Half a foot taller than Dopheld, built like a greyhound with a face like St Sebastian, and exactly the sort of vicious humour that always made Dopheld laugh- The Redhead was Dopheld’s perfect man. 

Far too perfect in fact for Dopheld to do more than babble at him on the rare occasions they bumped into each other at the garden gate.

All his life he had been called ‘consistent’ and ‘conscientious’ but compared to his downstairs neighbour Dopheld was practically a slob. You could set your watch by The Redhead’s routine. Every single morning for the last year and a half had been the same - awake at 5:30am, back from his morning run by 6:15am, breakfast, three minutes in the shower, and on weekdays he would be out the door for the 6:55am train into the city.

Evenings were a little more varied thanks to late trains and probably a social life, but every hour of the man’s weekends and holidays seemed to have been planned with military precision. 

It was Sunday. The Redhead should have been clattering his way through the washing up right about now but there was only silence from the flat downstairs. 

10am came and went without the telltale sound of The Archers on the radio or the rustle of the washing machine being loaded. Even when it started to rain outside Dopheld should still have been able to hear the man’s distinctive steps across the squeaky floorboards. 

Perhaps The Redhead was just away from home. Maybe he’d had a date on Saturday night and stayed over. 

That was a depressing thought. Dopheld knew he would never have the courage to ask him out- The Redhead was far, far out of his league- but as long as the man was single there was still enough hope for his subconscious to hold on to, even if it was purely fantasy.

By the afternoon the lack of noise was starting to get spooky. 

Strange how much his mind had come to rely on routine. There should have been shouting at some kind of sports going on by now, instead all Dopheld could hear was the ticking of the clock on his own desk. The monotony set his teeth on edge until he was almost tempted to go walking in the rain just to escape the silence.

Finally, at 4pm, he heard a new and unfamiliar sound. 

At first Dopheld thought the noise might be a baby crying in the distance, so he tried to ignore it. Only when he moved closer to the window did he realised the sounds were coming from the little garden in front of the house. 

There was a huge orange cat sitting on the steps to the basement, screaming like a murder victim. The awful noise didn’t stop when Dopheld opened the window, though the cat did twist its head around to glare at him. 

“What’s up, puss?” Dopheld asked, feeling horribly self conscious. He’d never really been a ‘talking to animals’ kind of person. 

The cat just wailed louder. 

Didn’t The Redhead have a cat? Dopheld was sure the man had mentioned one once when he collected a parcel Dopheld had signed for, but he’d never actually seen the animal.

There was something ridiculous about the image of his ginger neighbour owning an equally ginger cat, but then if anyone was going to colour coordinate with their pet it’d be him.

Half cringing with embarrassment Dopheld pointed towards the window beneath his own. “Did your owner lock you out?”

Cats might not be able to speak, but this one managed to a give him a look of contempt that clearly said- ‘obviously, dumbass.’

Well, he thought, if it’s been locked out all day then the poor thing must be hungry. 

“Do you want some tuna?” He asked. There was an old can in the cupboard, left behind by an ex-boyfriend. Assuming it was still in date Dopheld could definitely spare that.

The plaintive cries immediately turned demanding at the word ‘tuna’, but when Dopheld offered the bowl out of the window the cat refused to move. Clearly it expected to be fed right where it was sitting.

Dopheld was already regretting his helpful impulse- the rain had finally stopped but there were still puddles everywhere. He’d much rather stay inside. 

Seeing his hesitation the cat made a horrible yodelling noise of protest. Weren’t cats supposed to say ‘mew’ and purr at people who were nice to them? This thing sounded demonic.

Either way the animal clearly wasn’t going to shut up until he fed. 

The search for keys and shoes seemed to take forever while the cat continued to lose its mind outside, but Dopheld finally made it outside. 

Only to watch the damned animal trot all the way down the steps to the basement door where it sat staring at him with a smug look.

Biting his lip Dopheld self consciously carried the bowl down to it amid a rising sense of anxiety. 

What if The Redhead  _ was _ home after all? What if this  _ wasn’t _ his cat? Would his neighbour think he was insane for going to so much effort for a random angry animal? What if it  _ was _ his cat but the cat was on a diet? It was certainly big enough for that.

At least the cat was glad to see him. It wound around his legs, purring happily while he bent to place the bowl on the ground. 

Dopheld paused to scratch between its ears, his gaze drifting towards the window set into the door. He knew he shouldn’t be snooping but his curiosity got the better of him- he’d never actually seen into The Redhead’s flat before. 

He peered through the door, still half expecting the resident to appear at any moment.

As an unfortunate result of its basement location the hallway beyond was mostly obscured by shadows, but there was just enough filtering to reveal an odd shape on the floor. Recognising what it was took Dopheld much longer than he would be willing to admit.  

There was a figure sprawled on their back in the middle of a fancy rug, with their shoes pointing towards the door. From such an awkward angle it wasn’t possible to see their face, but the body seemed to be tall and thin enough to be The Redhead.

Dopheld stood frozen. 

The person on the floor seemed to be breathing, but only just.  

What the hell was he supposed to do now? How long had this person been laying there? When had he last heard his neighbour moving around? 

With his heart in his mouth Dopheld reached out a shaky hand to knock on the glass. 

Part of him was half afraid that this was somehow perfectly normal, that his neighbour had a valid reason to be sleeping in his hallway, but that worry was easily drowned out by the possibility that something much worse had happened. 

There was no response from the figure on the carpet.

Without realising he was doing anything different the knocking turned to pounding. The door was literally shaking in its frame. 

Still nothing. 

For a moment Dopheld considered outright smashing the glass, but common sense squashed that impulse. It would only take him thirty seconds to run upstairs and grab his phone. If the man had been there since last night half a minute longer would not make a difference. 

Besides, Dopheld had never actually broken a window before. Knowing his luck he would probably severe an artery and then they’d both be in trouble. 

He should get his phone and call someone who was qualified to help.

The cat mewed at him as he leapt over it and dashed back up the stairs.

“I’ll be right back, I promise,” he called over his shoulder, unsure if he was talking to the cat or the apparently unconscious person inside the flat.

He was already typing 9-9-9 into his phone when he returned, only to be struck by another wave of doubt. 

Surely the first thing the dispatcher would ask was whether he could actually reach the patient, right? So he should probably check to see if the door was locked before anyone was sent out to kick it down… 

Dopheld reached out and tried the door handle. It turned easily in his fingers.

Well, at least now he wouldn’t look like an idiot in front of any burly firemen.

Peering into the shadows for possible hazards Dopheld announced his presence in what he hoped with a reassuring tone.

“Hello?” His voice wavered horribly. He tried again. “Hello, are you okay?”

Another step into the hallway revealed that to be a stupid question - laying on the floor his neighbour looked awful. His skin was so pale he would have looked dead if it weren’t for the constant shivering. 

Dopheld had already crouched awkwardly down to check his pulse when he realised he didn’t actually know what he was checking  _ for _ . 

Touching the man’s neck only proved that there  _ was _ a pulse- which was obvious from the fact that he was breathing- plus a surprisingly thick layer of gingery stubble. Dopheld had never seen The Redhead with a beard. How long would it have taken to grow that?

The cat broke his train of thought by brushing past his knees to settle primly beside the unconscious man’s shoulder where it immediately started to lick at the beads of sweat gathering on his forehead.

For the first few weird raspy strokes of cat tongue over stubble there was no reaction, then the man groaned and swatted weakly up at his face. He failed to hit the cat, but he managed to catch Dopheld’s leg instead. 

Suddenly his eyes snapped open. 

“What the fuck are you doing in my house?!” The Redhead hissed up at him through dry, cracked lips.

If Dopheld had been clinging to any dreams of being heralded as a hero they would have shrivelled up under the weight of that angry glare. 

Without him realising it, Dopheld’s hands had raised themselves as if in surrender. He hadn’t consciously directed them to do that, and his neighbour didn’t seem to be in any state to attack him anyway, but a lifetime of dealing with his father had given him a conditioned response to that tone of voice. He blushed and forced his hands to return to his side.

“You… you do realise you’re laying on floor, right?” He replied before he could stop himself.

The Redhead glanced around the narrow hallway then closed his eyes for a moment. He almost seemed to fall asleep but just as Dopheld was getting worried he fixed him with a wary look. 

“Why am I on the floor?” 

“I, uh, I was going ask you that. What day do you think it is?”

“That has to be the least reassuring question I’ve ever been asked…” The Redhead replied. He’d covered his eyes with the back of one hand. It hardly seemed possible but he looked even paler now than he had when he was unconscious. 

“That’s not an answer.” Dopheld prompted.

The answer was slow and unclear, like consciousness was slipping away again. “Well, it isn’t Friday night anymore so… Saturday?”

That could not be good. He was far out of his depth but Dopheld knew he should try to keep this guy awake as much as possible.

“It’s late Sunday afternoon.”

“Fuck.” It was barely a whisper.

“Exactly. What’s your name?” 

The mumbled response sounded like the same swear word again. 

“Sorry, what?”

The hand over his eyes moved just enough for the man to glare at Dopheld. “I said- my name is  _ Hux _ .”

“Okay. Hello Hux. What’s your first name?”

“I don’t use it.” Hux replied bitterly. “It’s awful.”

“Well, my name is Dopheld, so I know all about having a terrible name, but I also know the ambulance crew will want to know your full name.” 

“I don’t need an ambulance.” Even as he said this his eyes drifted closed again.

“You look like you need a hearse. But I don’t know the phone number for  _ that _ , so tell me your name or I’ll have to go rooting through your pockets…”

Hux didn’t respond to the threat. 

Because he was unconscious.

“Shit.” Dopheld said, with feeling. 


End file.
